Too Late
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: Unrequited Mukada/Alvarez; Alvarez/Torquemada. I wrote this for Oz Magi a few months ago. The prompt was "The heart wants what it wants."


The heart wants what the heart wants, Ray supposes, and he's helpless to figure out why. Why wasn't celibacy as easy for him as the other priests? If he had to fall for someone, why not a nice Catholic woman? If he had to fall for a man, why did it have to be a convicted murderer who had held him hostage multiple times and had come close to killing him?

Miguel Alvarez is bad news, plain and simple. He may have had redeeming qualities once upon a time, but Oz has caused him to beat those down in the name of self-preservation. Now Miguel is something like a ghost, living only not to die, instead of actually living. His only goal is to survive the day. If he does that, then he allows himself luxuries like drugs and sex with Torquemada.

If that goal is threatened, he becomes ruthless. He won't stop until his opponent is dead, even if there are a dozen of them. It doesn't matter if that enemy is a depraved demon like Keller, or a gentler victim of circumstance like Beecher, or even one of the few guards who isn't a true hack.

The only enemy he can't fight or realize is after him is the enemy within him, the one that brought him here and drives him to do drugs and stick with gangs.

In short, Miguel Alvarez is the last person Ray should be attracted to. Which must be exactly why his heart has decided on him.

Ray really can't help it. He's tried, oh Lord has he tried, to get over it. He's tried ignoring it, he's tried rationalizing it, he's tried reasoning with himself, he's tried running away. It seems that there's only one option left, and that's the one he doesn't want to do; face it head-on.

Things change a little, over time, but not in a good way. Miguel used to want to change his nature at least a little. He was salvageable then, which was why Ray stuck up for him. But ever since Torquemada came into the picture, Miguel has become unrepentant. He doesn't talk to Ray much anymore and he doesn't come to services. Ray doesn't remember the last time Miguel took the Eucharist.

His heart doesn't seem to care. His heart won't change with the times; it sees the same Miguel it loves, the one who was so devastated by the loss of his baby and who wanted to make things up to Ray for the riot. The one who was frantic when Ray was in the bus crash and tried to make sure he was okay.

He may as well be in love with a dead man. Miguel is completely, hopeless lost now, a true Oz inmate.

Ray changes too, and it's more of a mixed bag than Miguel's. He likes some of the changes and despises some of the others. He cuts down to two cigarettes a day, starts eating a little better. He starts acting a little more like the model priest he's supposed to be.

But he also loses his interest in helping the prisoners. Compassion fatigue, Sister Pete calls it. She assures him it's completely normal; everyone burns out at some point. He's still interested in helping some of them, but most of the "old crowd" he leaves on their own.

It kills Ray to do it, but he gives up on Miguel. He turns his attention to newer inmates who want to make things right, who hadn't realized how wrong things were going until they got here and who wanted to make sure they never came close to this again. He gives absolution, coaches them, helps them turn their lives around. He even helps one make early parole.

He's moved on; his heart hasn't. The heart wants what the heart wants and it doesn't give up nearly as easily.

He's just finished hearing the confession of Robbie Harper, who admits to being tempted to have sex with a prag. Ray says an Act of Contrition with him and encourages him to come talk to him later, where they can talk about the psychological implications and such in more depth. For now, though, he assures him that all is forgiven.

He walks to the staff room and pulls out his lunch. Two peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches, a salad, an apple, and a diet Coke. He zones out as he listens to Doctor Nathan telling Pete a funny story from her days as a resident at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City.

When Gloria leaves a few minutes later, Sister Pete comes over to him and says, "Ray, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Something wrong?" he asks, taking a bite of the apple.

"Yes," she replies, and she looks so grave now that there's no doubt that something is seriously wrong. "Miguel has been asking to see you."

Ray shakes his head, but Pete continues before he can get a word in edgewise.

"Ray, I know you've been trying to move on, but you can't abandon him. This is serious, Ray. He truly needs you."

"What happened?" Ray asks, becoming more alarmed now.

"It's not my place to say-" Pete begins.

"You can't do that!" Ray protests. "You can't just tell me something's wrong and then-"

She sighs, scrutinizing him. "Fine, I'll tell you, but I expect you to talk to Miguel about it, and you can not tell him that you know."

Ray nods, agreeing.

She stands up and beckons him to follow. He leaves his lunch there and follows her to her office.

As they walk, Ray wonders what's happening. Is Miguel hurt, sick? Is he in trouble with another gang?

When they've sat down, Pete sighs and takes her glasses off. "Ray, I know you and Miguel have grown apart, but he does still care for you. You were like a father figure to him, and even though he understands why, he's still hurt that you've given up on him."

"But," she continues before Ray can speak, "This isn't really about that. The past is in the past. You need to be there for him now, Ray. He can't face this alone."

"And what," Ray's voice catches, wavers, "Is 'this'?"

Pete's face looks soft, sympathetic. "Ray, we've always known the risks of the drug use in this prison. So far, we've managed to dodge the bullet, so to speak, but not anymore. We don't know who the source was, but a few drug-using prisoners started complaining about a flu that wouldn't go away. When we tested them, their test came back positive for HIV. Miguel is one of those prisoners," she says gently.

Ray feels like he's been kicked in the stomach. They've known this would happen someday, but now it's actually happened, and Miguel is going to die- whether in a few months or a few decades- because of it.

"Ray, I'm sure you know that Miguel hasn't necessarily been given a death sentence," Pete says softly. "If advances aren't made soon, then yes, it will eventually kill him, but it doesn't have to be anytime soon."

Ray gives a humorless laugh. "No, but the same thing that caused him to get infected will. Being here."

Ray feels like a failure. The one time he turns his back on someone and channels his energy elsewhere, the person who relied on him the most ends up with a fatal illness.

"It isn't your fault, Ray," Pete says. She knows him all too well. "Even when you talked to him often, he never stopped using drugs and being self-destructive. It really was only a matter of time."

"Oh, and that makes it all okay, doesn't it," Ray says acidly. He's fucked up, and he doesn't care what anyone else says about it. Nothing will assuage him now.

He can't stand his guilt, can't stand her looking at him like that. Like he deserves pity. "I've got to go," he says, and leaves her office without another word.

That night, he goes to a church on the other side of town. He finds a priest there and says, "I need to make a confession, Father."

"This way, my son," the man says gently, pointing and starting to walk. "I'm father Harold Marsden. Who are you?"

"Father Ray Mukada," he mutters.

"Oh, it isn't too often that I hear other priests's confessions," the man says airily. He loves being a priest so much, Ray thinks wistfully. When was the last time he had loved it too?

Once the basics are taken care of in the booth, Ray tells the whole story, minus his feelings for Miguel, finishing with, "And so now I just don't know what to think. I've failed in my duties as a priest and I don't think I deserve God's forgiveness. I think I should quit."

"What good will quitting do?" Father Marsden asks seriously. "You may not see it, Father Mukada, but you are exactly what these prisoners need. Every priest makes mistakes, and you can hardly be blamed for yours. After all you've been through as a prison chaplain, especially at the hands of this one prisoner, it was only natural for you to try to save yourself. You are only human; Jesus is the only human who has ever lived who is perfect."

Ray swallows hard. "It's just that I cared about him a lot more than I should have, and that makes it even worse."

"How do you care for him, Father Mukada?" Marsden asks.

Ray sighs. He can't lie to a fellow priest. "The feelings are some that a priest shouldn't feel, let alone towards other men," he says simply.

"The Bible tells us that priests are to be celibate, and that homosexuality is a sin; that is true," Marsden says. "However, thoughts aren't quite the same. We are all sinners; as long as those sins do not cause harm to another human, I see no reason for you to leave the Priesthood."

Ray nods. He knows it in his mind, but his heart doesn't agree. The heart wants what the heart wants, and now it will probably never get it. And it's his fault.


End file.
